


Shooting The Moon

by daddychilton



Category: Mad Men
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daddychilton/pseuds/daddychilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete and Bob in Don's office after hours, drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shooting The Moon

Don’s office was slightly illumined by the Manhattan lights below. It was midnight, and half the city was asleep. Bob Benson and Pete Campbell sat side by side on Don’s couch with a bourbon in each of their hands. No ice – they were drinking it straight. They had since this whole thing began. Pete couldn’t kiss Bob without being drunk, he wouldn’t let himself.

“What are we doing here, Pete?” Bob’s voice was gritty, so unlike his suave, helpful self. He was only a touch angry; in truth, he hungered for Pete more than anything else. He just wished that the other man felt the same without a few drinks.

Pete finished off his fifth bourbon, and he could feel it settle at the pit of his stomach. Everything felt warm, everything felt fuzzy, and he looked at Bob through blurry eyes and slurred, “Because, Bob, you’re the moon.” The empty glass he held fell to the floor, and he was on Bob, kissing his jaw and lips and eyes and ears. Bob’s eyelashes fluttered – he wasn’t near drunk enough to handle Pete—he loved him too much when he acted like this. So much that it made him want to burst at the seams.

Ever since Pete had found out his secret, Bob had felt some sort of magnetism drawing him toward Pete. He didn’t know why. Pete wasn’t just an asshole – he was _the_ asshole.

Bob cupped his hands around Pete’s face. Pete’s eyes swam as he tried to focus on Bob’s. Tried, tried, and finally succeeded. He smiled, looking at Bob, and Bob truly believed that Pete thought he was the moon.

He kissed Pete longingly, thoroughly exploring the other man’s mouth with his tongue, the last, stinging sensations of bourbon filling his mouth. He thought his mouth’d overflow with Pete-flavored bourbon; he savored every drop.

Pete’s eyes were shut again, and his fingers had managed to pull Bob’s shirts out of his pants and was running his hands through the man’s chest hair. A small growl escaped his throat, and Bob knew he was ready to be fucked.

Bob drained his bourbon and got up, pushing Pete to the couch. He poured himself another drink, gulped it down, and pinned Pete down beneath him in one fluid motion. His kisses were hungry, and his shirt was off and so was Pete’s and their breathing mingled into one sweet and burning cloud. Deep down, he wondered if Don would come in late, thrown out by Megan again; deep down, he wondered if they should replace the bourbon they’d drunk; deep down, he just wanted Pete to want to fuck him without being drunk.

His teeth found Pete’s bottom lip, pulled and heard a gasp and tasted the metallic tang of blood. Pete’s eyes were wide, but his dick was hard.

This was the other side of Bob, the Bob without secrets.

Bob’s hands were undoing Pete’s belt, pulling his pants down and his dick out. He wasted no time. Even though he wanted Pete, he still scared him and there was always a part of him that wanted to get away from him and his receding hairline. Why did he even like that in the first place?

Pete came so easy when he was drunk. Either that or Bob was really good at hand jobs. He didn’t know which, didn’t care. He’d turned Pete over with one finger in his ass and one hand pushing his head into the couch cushions below. Pete was mewling for it. He always did.

Bob figured Trudy’d left Pete not because he was an asshole, but because he was weak.

Two fingers in and Pete was moaning. He needed it, he needed he needed needed needed. That’s all Bob heard. He would give it to him time after time after time, and he felt like a sucker and the luckiest guy all at once.

When he finally pushed himself into Pete, he was as angry as he’d ever been. Pete began to moan so loudly, Bob had to clasp push his head further into the cushions. Couldn’t risk being caught by anyone, although the thought of Pete being outed was something he thought he’d enjoy.

Bob felt like a fucking hypocrite.

Their breathing was heavy and sweat was dripping from Bob’s brow. Bob moaned one time and removed his hand from Pete’s head to cover his own mouth as he came. Pete yowled.

They were both sticky and glistened with sweat and deep down Bob wondered if Don would smell it. He wondered if he’d know.

He knew he wouldn’t, he didn’t care. He had Pete wrapped around his finger, and that was the most he could get.

Beneath him, Pete slurred, “You’re the moon, Bob.”

 

 


End file.
